Breathe Again
by 2momsmakearight
Summary: Summary: Post "Trust No1" - He longs to be able to see her in those moments, naked, still asleep, her hair splayed over the white sheets. She spends the nights clutching his shirts as she lies in her empty bed, her mind attempting to remember the small intricacies of their passion –details she told herself she would never forget, but now she finds are slipping away.
"Breathe Again"

* * *

She feels his absence like a cinder block, dragging her beneath the surface. It suffocates her, drowns her, pulls her under its riptide. The pain in her heart is immeasurable – losing the other half of your soul is an all-encompassing sensation. How can she put measure on something so final? How can she move on with her life, go about everyday tasks, with a constant reminder of her fractured soul sleeping in the crib beside her, his face a daily reminder of what she's let go?

Eight Months.

It's been eight months since she tearfully pleaded with Mulder to leave them, to abandon his family in order to keep them safe.

Eight months since she held him in her arms, as he wept into her neck, begging her to change her mind, begging her to come with him, so they could be a family.

Eight months since she kissed his lips, salty from tears, and told him that she would love no other, that they would be together again soon.

Eight months since he held William for the last time, sobbing into the sweet-smelling down of his head, as he whispered promises from a father to a son, *his* son.

Eight months since he laid him in his bassinet and walked to her door, fraught with grief, clutching her body to his– the final act of a desperate man as he walked away from his family, not knowing when, or even if, he would return.

Eight months since the other half of her heart – the other half of her soul – walked out her front door, leaving only a shell of the woman he loved in its wake.

She spends the nights clutching his shirts as she lies in her empty bed, her mind attempting to remember the small intricacies of their passion –details she told herself she would never forget, but now she finds are slipping away. The way the light of the moon shone on his face as he hovered above her, mystical silver glittering in the shadows of his skin. His intensity when he locked on her gaze, imploring her to keep her eyes open, imploring her to watch as his mouth and tongue stroked her wet, heated core. His hands when they gripped hers, knuckles white, holding hers as she moved her body above his.

She desires him in the quiet moments the most, when she reaches between her legs to ease the pain of his absence, trying to feel anything but hollowness, anything but an empty void. She grasps his grey heather shirt, desperate for those remaining threads that still hold his musky scent, hoping to keep those memories alive inside her. And in those moments, she remembers.

She remembers the details of his face, the lines around his mouth, the salmon-pink of his lips, the charcoal of his eyes. She smiles into the darkness, tears staining her temples and collecting behind her ears. Her fingers circle her swollen bundle of nerves, pumping and caressing, impossibly mimicking his movements as her muscles quiver, and her belly tightens in ecstasy.

Only after, as her hands lay limp against her thighs, does she let the tears fall, her sticky fingers serving as a reminder of the sadness that threatens to defeat her.

* * *

 _Scully_

Her name still sounds in his mind. She remains the first thing he thinks of when he wakes. His memory of her carries him from his lonely current existence back into the beauty of his former life.

The vibrant gold of the desert sun filters through the dusty curtains of the dilapidated trailer, reminding him of how the sun shone through her red strands, highlighting the natural reds and golds, when the light wafted through her bedroom window.

He longs to be able to see her in those moments, naked, still asleep, her hair splayed over the white sheets. He longs to be able to run his fingers through it, feeling the silky tresses slide through his fingers as he watches her sleep, even more beautiful in slumber than awake.

He longs to feel her under his lips, or taste the sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He longs to feel her body quiver under his touch, the way it did the first time they made love.

Lying in his shoebox of a bedroom, his thoughts continually drift to the woman of his dreams – the woman who will forever be the other half of his soul—and he can't help but clutch his chest, the ache so deep that it takes his breath away.

He finds privacy amidst the red rock of his new home, the jack rabbit and rattlesnake his only witnesses to the madness stirring within. He's going mad without her, the dejection and heartbreak all-consuming.

He reclines against the large rocks, and watches the sun moves across the sky. Inevitably, his mind drifts to her. Always to her.

It is in times like these he is grateful for his photographic memory, for it is the perfunctory details that keep him from falling over the brink into insanity. It's being able to remember the heaviness of her voice as she gasped and moaned in his ear, or the way her body molded around his length, tight and wet, so unbelievably hot. His body shivers remembering her breath on the short hairs of his neck, explosive and rapid as he moved inside her, her wet heat a rebirth – the ultimate baptism by fire.

His heart palpitates, remembering how she would look at him the morning, her eyes still sleepy and heavy, but her skin bright and fresh. He remembers how her cheeks were tinged pink with natural beauty, her blue eyes sweetly conveying her love through hooded lids.

In those moments, his hand inevitably drifts to his crotch, stroking and rubbing his throbbing length as he thinks of her mouth wrapped around him, her eyes piercing him, as he adoringly cups her cheeks and whispers words of encouragement, of love.

But those recollections are always too quick to end, dissolving into the barren earth of the desert as he desperately tries to grasp their remaining wisps, before they float fleetingly away in the wind.

 _To: queequeg0925_

 _From: trust_no1_

 _"I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left. I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this._

 _I want to come home. To you, and to William."_

* * *

 _Mulder_

He's coming back to her.

Due at midnight, on a train.

Her belly flutters as nerves threaten to weaken her resolve, while she eagerly awaits his return. She surprises herself by the number of times she reaches into her coat pocket to finger the folded paper of his email. The paper is soft, edges bent, already worn and battered from her repeated unfolding and folding.

In her apartment, she moves about cleaning the dishes, feeding William, keeping occupied to distract her mind from the useless ramblings fluttering inside her brain.

She has to see him – the need is so intense, the warning bells in the back of her mind cease to exist. She looks at her son, his cherub face covered in mashed sweet potatoes, and smiles. Every day, more and more he looks like his father, and some days, looking his eyes is enough to fill her heart, even if only briefly.

Because she needs him.

She needs him here, with her, with their son. As she packs an overnight bag for William she wonders if she should decline her mother's offer to watch him. Mulder should see his son…, but she needs to be alone with him. She needs to remind herself that he's real, that he's not just a figment of her imagination.

Rubbing the citrus body wash over her skin, she is reminded of the first time he joined her in the shower, her body pressed against the tiles, the lemon-scented bubbles circling the drain as she moved up and down over his cock. She lets her hand drift between her legs, the suds silky between her fingers as pleasure courses through her nerve endings. A smile grows on her face as she remembers he'll be there in just a short time. He will be with her again…, touching her…, filling her…, tasting her….

Her orgasm ripples through her body, leaving her knees weak and shaky, the remnants of the lonely act swirling down the metal of the drain.

He jumps from the train, out of fear as much as for the preservation of the lives of Scully and William. It was too good to be true. He should have expected something like this to happen, that the men who intent to harm him would use his family to gain access. But, it didn't stop him from getting on the train in the first place, because if he'd had to go another day without seeing her, without hearing her, he knew he'd never escape the shackles of his tortured mind. The temptation is strong enough to touch. But it isn't meant to be.

Seeing her calling for him on those tracks gives him the final burst of confidence he needs. It scares him to think that his loneliness could lead him to act so impetuously, but it only takes one glimpse of her in that camel coat and turquoise scarf to know he has made the right decision. It pains him to do it, but he does. He jumps. He jumps, and he runs away.

When he hears her calling his name, her voice resounds like an awakening, and it takes his every last ounce of control not to run to her and wrap her in his arms. He keeps moving, keeps running, his feet hitting the earth with increasing force, as he tries to dull the agonizing throb in his heart. So close. She was so close.

He reaches the highway and sticks his thumb out, hoping for the kindness of a stranger. He knows his presence will only put his family in danger. When a semi-truck pulls over and offers him a ride, he does what he needs to do.

"As far away from here as you can get me," he tells the driver.

Hours later, Scully enters her apartment, its heavy silence deafening. She leans against the front door and closes her eyes, hot tears sliding down her face. He should be here right now. He should be kissing her and loving her. Her hand trails to her neck, and she shudders.

She feels his phantom lips as her mind wanders, wanting to feel him, wanting to feel his body forcibly pressing her into the solid wood of the door, so obsessed and blurred by lust that the bedroom seems miles away.

She bangs her head against the door and whimpers, "Dammit, Mulder."

He thanks the trucker for his generosity and walks to the small Motel office.

 _Scully… Scully… Scully._

The chant plays in his mind as he takes the key from the manager and walks towards his room, sighing heavily at the scent of stale air in his lungs. God, what he would give to be able to see her—to be close to her. He sits on the bed, the mattress bouncing under his weight, and pulls his burner phone from his pocket.

She pulls the sheets back on her bed, their clean scent assaulting her nostrils, and she cannot help but cover her mouth as a sob escapes. The light from outside her window casts a warm glow over the lifeless white linens.

She stands at the foot of her bed, watching in a dream-like trance as his body covers hers, moving in and out of her with sweet intensity, her legs writhing beneath him. She watches him moan into her neck as she undulates against him, thrusting her hips against his, matching his strokes.

The Mulder of her mind is tender and loving, and they lock eyes, shedding tears of both joy and sadness as their souls reconnect. She watches herself kiss down the trail of his stomach, his muscles quivering under her tongue before she engulfs him between her lips and moves around him. His phantom cries and moans fill her ears.

The headlights from a car passing by her window break her of her reverie. She swallows thickly and crawls beneath the bedding, tears staining the pillow that she hoped would have held his head. Her hand reaches to her chest, her ribs rising and expanding as she reminds herself to breathe. The burden of this love constricts her; it consumes her every last breath.

Her phone starts ringing, and she groans. Her mind is too weary and exhausted to carry on a conversation. She knows the woman means well, but Scully is not in the mindset for polite chatter. Not tonight. She picks up the phone with an audible sigh.

"Monica… Can we talk tomorrow? I'm so tired," her voice cracks as she answers the phone without salutation.

There is a pause on the other end, and Scully blinks into the darkness.

"Scully, it's me."

She shoots up in bed, and covers her mouth, her eyes wide and immediately clouding with tears. She swallows with difficulty, the words choking her as they sit thickly in the back of her throat. She blinks tears from her eyes.

"Mulder?" she whispers, hopefully. She is sure it's a dream, for it's only in her dreams that she hears his voice.

He sighs into the phone, and she bites her lip, smiling. "Yeah, Scully, it's me."  
There is a silence over the line as the shock of hearing the other fully settles. The gentle sounds of their breaths is beyond soothing.

"I ah…, I don't know what to say about tonight," he says softly.

"Where are you?" she asks, her pitch matching his as they whisper into the darkness.

He pauses again. "I can't say, Scully. It's too dangerous... I can't talk long… I'm on a burner phone. But I had to hear your voice," he sighs.

She nods into the darkness of her room, and her hand reaches up to rub her forehead, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. Suddenly, the enormity of the moment consumes her, and she bends forward, sobbing violently into the line. "I…, (hiccup)… miss you…, (hiccup)…, so much, Mulder," she chokingly whispers.

Her weeping fills the phone, and he grimaces, understanding all too well the shared pain of their separation. He wants to go to her. He wants to touch her, to kiss her, to soothe her pain. He misses her with a ferocity that he never knew could exist.

"Oh, Scully," he sighs soothingly. "I miss you too… So much it hurts," he says, wincing. His hand rubs his chest, trying to alleviate the constant dull ache he finds there. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and looks to the heavens, wishing upon a star that he could end all of this –that he could return to her.

"I want to see you…, (hiccup)…, so badly, Mulder. Please…, (hiccup)…, Mulder. Please let me come to you," she begs.

Mulder groans into the phone, and closes his eyes. The sound of her voice is his undoing. She sounds so battered, so worn. So unlike the strong, independent Scully he left all those months ago.

"No…, you can't Scully…. It's not safe…. You know that," he says, hoping to convince himself even more than her.  
"Please let me come to you," her crying has subsided and calmed, but her voice is hoarse and thick with unshed emotion.

"Scully…, I can't risk it," he sighs, "I can't risk them using you, or our son, to get information on me…, and if anyone asks if you've seen me, you can tell them the truth." He pauses and listens to her breathing for a moment. "Hopefully, I won't have to do this for much longer…, but we can't see each other, Scully… I just…, I had to hear your voice."

He hears her sniff on the other side of the line, and his lungs struggle for breath.

"But I'm here now…. I'm with you, Scully. I'm right here," he says softly, urging her to be present with him in the moment.

She smiles disbelievingly and shakes her head, "I had so many dreams for tonight, Mulder. You have no idea." She smiles behind the tears, and wipes her face.

He bites his bottom lip and rolls his eyes back. "I bet I do, Scully. I bet I do," he sighs.

She huffs into the phone and shifts in bed, "Tell me, Mulder."

His heart flutters, and his belly tightens. "God, Scully," he breathes, "All I could think about today was making love to you. It's all I think about most days, actually," he chuckles. He hears her snort, and it makes his heart swell.

"Tell me, Mulder. Tell me what you dreamed about for tonight…, what you think about out there…, wherever you are," she whispers. Her voice is shaky, and he feels his throat tighten. She is so close and yet so far away. If she only knew of his fantasies, of what he had planned for this night.

If she only knew that all he could think about for the last day was what she would taste like. Would she taste the same as he remembers, salty and tangy – like a margarita at the beach?

He closes his eyes and thinks of her, smiling traitorously while his heart pounds rapidly in his chest. "I think about you, Scully. I think about how beautiful you are," his voice quivers, and he hears her breath hitch.

"I think about how much I miss you, how much I miss touching you. I miss everything about you, Scully. I miss your voice, I miss how your eyebrow arches when you think I say something crazy," he laughs softly.

"I miss your body…, God, I miss your body," he sighs painfully, the words practically seething from his mouth. His chest burns with remembrance and longing.

She releases a shaky sigh, silent as she listens to him.

"I thought about how I would touch you tonight," he gulps when his groin tightens, the image of her alabaster skin and her sienna-rose nipples invading this mind's eye.

"I thought about making love to you all night… Ugh, I ache for you, Scully… I just…, I miss you… Fuck, I miss touching you," he groans dejectedly.

A strained whimper escapes her throat, and she leans back against her pillows, closing her eyes. "Be with me now, Mulder," she whispers into the darkness. "Make love to me… Please," her voice cracks.

His knees feel wobbly, and he leans back on the bed with a loud sigh, his hand resting above his heart. He can hear the quiet suffering in her voice, and his own heart breaks in response. "Fuck, Scully, you have no idea how much I want to…, but we can't."

"No," she breathes. "No… Talk to me Mulder. Let me hear your voice. Tell me your dreams of us. I…I need this, Mulder… I need to hear you," she whispers. "I don't know how much more of this I can take," she says, her voice cracking with wretched emotion.

He listens to her silent sobs, each hitching of her breath a stab in his chest. If only he could see her. If only he could take away her pain.

"Scully, I…," he sighs, his eyes closed. "I want you so badly," he groans, his cock engorging as memories of her swirl in his mind.

"Tell me… Tell me how you would touch me, Mulder," she pleads quietly.

"Fuck, Scully…," he groans breathlessly, the sound of his arousal sending bursts of wetness to her core.

Scully shivers, and her skin tingles, the anticipation building and settling heavily in her belly. Her chest flushes, and her pulse increases. The heady rasp of his aroused voice was always enough to make her wet, and even now she smiles into the darkness as she feels her body react to him, her sex swelling with wet desire.

His hand moves down his chest and he opens his jeans, releasing his cock from its tight confines with a groan.

"Mmm, your neck always tasted so sweet, Scully… like your perfume and soap…," he says, groaning softly. "Christ, I miss your smell…, miss your taste," he sighs, and he hears her shudder on the other side. His hand palms his cocks, moving it slowly up and down his length. It twitches under his hand.

"Imagine me there. Imagine me laying there with you. I'm with you, Scully… Do you feel me?"

He hears her breath hitch. "I need you, Mulder," she whispers.

"I'm right here … You just have to believe. I need you to believe. For once I need you to believe, Scully. I'm here…" he pleads, his throat clogging with emotion.

She covers her eyes with her hand as a sob escapes, and turns away from the phone. "I thought I could do this… But I just miss you so much. I want to believe, Mulder," she cries, "I want…, (hiccup)… to believe so much…, (hiccup)… Make me believe," she begs quietly.

He is listening to her from hundreds of miles away, listening to her desperate longing and loneliness come to fruition. As he listens to her, he realizes that this is exactly where he should be. He needs to make her believe again. He needs to make her believe in them, in their possibilities. He needs to make her remember.

"Scully… Trail your fingertips across your lips… slowly…"

"Do you feel my lips on yours? Your lips are so soft and warm… I'm kissing you, Scully… Our lips are moving together, and our tongues are touching… Christ, I could live and die in kissing you," he finishes in a sigh.

She whimpers softly, her clit throbbing fiercely, begging for its release, as she imagines the touch of their tongues – the wet, fleshy softness rimming her lips while he discovers her mouth.

"My lips are moving down your neck, tasting you…, licking you… I love your neck, Scully. I love the hollow of your throat, sweet and salty at the end of the day. I love to lick the perfume trail you leave every morning."

Her shaky fingers are splayed across her neck as she listens to his words, silent tears slipping from her eyes as she imagines him there with her, making love to her like he did all those months ago. He listens to her fluttery breathing, quiet whimpers emitting from her throat.

"Touch your breasts, Scully… Grasp them… Roll them… Knead them… Picture my hands… Picture my mouth around your nipple…, licking it…, biting it…" He forces the words through his teeth, his ardent hunger for her pulsating in his hand, and he begins his fervent stroking.

Scully arches against the bed as her fingers pinch her nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She moans loudly into the phone, biting her lip.

"Is your clit aching, Scully? Do you want me to touch you there?" he breathes.

Scully traps her bottom lip between her teeth, muffling a moan. "Yes," she cries.

"Touch yourself, Scully… Rub your clit." His words send a jolt straight her center and she moans, her center flowing like magma on volcanic rock, thick and hot as it trails down her thighs.

Her shaking hands begin their descent back into her center. She swipes her middle finger between her heated flesh, and moans as it begins to swirl around her clit, her hips moving against her hand.

She sighs shakily and brings her knees back, the cool air of the room intensifying her desire. She can feel her folds swelling and pulsating with immense heat as she teases the engorged bundle of nerves, barely making contact with the burning core. She whimpers and moans, feeling the electricity push her towards the precipice.

"Mulder!," she cries out. "Oh god…, it feels so good… But I… I need…," she gasps and whimpers against her pillow. Her fingers move over herself with finesse, pangs of hot desire shooting to her sex. She feels her internal walls twitching, throbbing, and she throws her head back with a frustrated grunt, her fingers unable to give her body what she desires the most.

"I need you, Mulder… I want to feel you inside me…" she shakily whispers, begging him to make her whole again.

"I know… I know. I want to be inside you so much… I need to be inside you," he moans, spreading more precum down his shaft, smoothing his hand to spread it evenly.

Tears suddenly brim his eyes. He longs for her so hopelessly. He thought hearing her would be enough to quench his eight-month-old thirst. But he was not prepared to feel worse, to hear her in distress and not be able to go to her, touch her, take her pain away.

He so badly wishes to replace her fingers with his body, to give her that which she so desperately desires and craves, but he remains removed, unable to give her anything.

Her fingers pump in and out of her core as her center throbs for release. She sobs for it, pleading with him to make her come, to ease the ache. "I wish you were here. I miss this… I miss us," she cries softly.

Her sobs choke the breath out of his lungs. "I miss us, too… I'm with you. I'm always with you," he says with heavy emotion, his balls tightening in preparation for his release. She whimpers tearfully, soaking the pillow under her head, the wetness a reminder of the loneliness that envelops her.

"Talk to me, Mulder," she breathes pleadingly. "Please… Keep talking to me… Don't leave me," she begs.

Mulder swallows the lump in his throat. "I'm here, Scully," he says gently, hoping to ease her anguish. "Does it feel good? Do you imagine me above you, my cock moving in and out?" She moans loudly, and resumes her movements with fervent intensity. His words hammer into her throbbing core, the ache and desire continue to build.

"I miss tasting you," he growls. "For years I wondered what you would taste like… Fuck, I'd give anything to feel your clit between my lips," he says and she moans softly, his cock impossibly hard as his fist moves around it.

"I want to hear you, Scully," he says softly, but demanding.

She gasps, and bites her lip, her face blushing. "Oh Goddd…, keep talking," she whimpers.

"Do you remember that time we came back from that case in Tennessee…? How I kicked the door closed and immediately wrapped my arms around you, biting and kissing the part of your neck I love so much…?"

"I remember…" she sighs. She whimpers into the phone, and her hand touches her neck, feeling his teeth there, remembering how his mouth felt on the sensitive flesh. Her hard nipples rub against her pajamas, the cool silky material coaxing them to perfect tautness, her belly simmering with desire.

The corner of his mouth curls to a smile. "I kept licking and sucking on your neck, and I felt your body responding. Your skin was hot, so hot. I brought my hands and cupped your breasts over your shirt, kneading and squeezing them," he says breathlessly.

Scully brings her hand to cup her aching breast, rolling her hardened nipple between her fingers as she imagines his fingers over her swollen flesh. She gasps into the receiver, warm liquid gushing from her core. She rubs her thighs together, and twists on the bed. "Fuck, Mulder!" she whimpers. "Do you remember everything from that night?" she breathes.

"Does it feel good, Scully?" he asks, biting his lip as his fist increases its strokes.

She huffs a shaky breath. "Yessss," she hisses.

Mulder feels his cock twitch in Pavlovian response to hearing her throaty moans and whimpers across the line. He spreads more precum that has gathered on the tip of his cock, grunting as his hips reflexively thrust against his hand.

"God, Mulder," Scully huffs, "I love hearing your voice when we make love."

Mulder's eyes close, and he moans again, hearing her whimper in response.

"I love feeling your nipples through your bra," he says, his voice shaky as his arousal builds. "I used to imagine what they would feel like, what they would taste like as I rolled them between my lips and fingers," he says headily, slowly, drawing out each word as he listens to her sighs and whimpers.

"Jesus, you make me so hard," he mutters through clenched teeth, his hand stroking his cock.

He hears her carnal cries on the other side of the phone, and sweat drips from his forehead.

"I know you're aching for me to touch you, Scully. I know your body is quivering and trembling. Ungh… I wish I could touch you…, feel you…," he grunts.

She moans and her body jerks, feeling his fantasy hand tantalizing her swollen flesh, as her own hand covers her dripping mound.

"Tell me," she breathes. "Tell me what I feel like."

"Oh, Scully," he groans. "You have no idea… Soft…, so soft… Fuck, Scully… I.., I remember the first time you let me touch you…, and my hand reached down your pants…, cupping you…, stroking you…, fuck Scully, you were so wet," he says longingly.

"Uhng… Mulder," she moans, her head thrashing against her pillow.

"Tell me," he breathes pleadingly. "Tell me what you feel… Make me remember, Scully."

"Mulder!" she moans as her fingers trail around her swollen lips, weeping with desire for him.

"I… I feel," her words are hoarse and heavy, cut by the quickening tempo of her breathing. "Oh, Mulder… It aches…"

"I want it to ache, Scully. I want it to ache so badly. Remember…? Remember when we were stuck in the car during rush hour on that case in California? Remember how much we wanted each other? Remember how much it ached – how much we just wanted to pull over to fuck on the side of the road?" She moans at his words, remembering all too well how much she wanted to swing her leg over the console and straddle him, fucking him senseless, regardless of whether the car was moving. Her need was that strong – the ache that powerful.

"Tell me what I did next, Scully," he coaxes.

"Uhng…, you… God, Mulder… You touched me," she says breathlessly.

He nods to himself and smiles as the memory plays in his mind. "Yesss… I reached my hand over, and I cupped you… Fuck, I can still remember how wet your cunt was… Seeping through your pants," he says, his breaths quickening as his fist increases its pumps.

Her fingers stroke her swollen folds, shuddering as she remembers what his fingers felt like as they pushed and pulled her body to orgasm, sitting in traffic, oblivious to other drivers.

"Ah! Mulder… Oh!… It feels…, feels so good," she groans softly.

"Are you wet, Scully? Tell me. Remind me what your cunt feels like."

She moans at his vulgarity, confused by how she can hate the word, and yet simultaneously find it incredibly hot. Her body decides for her as she feels herself gush at her center, his ability to arouse her never ceasing to amaze her.

"Ohhh!… I'm…, God, I'm so wet, Mulder," she pants. "You make me so wet." Mulder bites his lip forcefully, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. "Christ, I love it when you talk dirty," he groans.

She bites her lip and whimpers, her legs writhing as her hips gently thrust against her hand.

"Ugh…, I miss how wet you used to get… It makes me so hard to know how I hot I make you," he whispers.

"I wish I could put my hand down your pants, Scully… Stroke you…, slide inside you. Your clit must be so swollen. Fuck, Scully," he seethes through clenched teeth, his mind playing the image of Scully's hand between her legs, dripping for him, her core aching for his body.

"Yessss," she hisses.

His hand moves in rapid bursts, his release imminent. "God, I love fucking you, Scully… Never…, Uhng," he grunts, imaging her fingers inside of her, "Never been so good."

Her fingers swirl around her engorged clit, and stroke the upper walls of her sex, her hips rising and falling in tune with her hands.

"So good… Don't stop," she breathes.

"Keep going… Come for me, Scully… I want to hear you come… "

He bites his bottom lip, staving off his release so he can come with her, groaning with pent-up frustration.

"Oh God, Mulder… I'm close…," she moans.

"Do it, Scully… Make yourself come… Keep rubbing… Fuck," he seethes, his own erection begging for release.

Her moans grow louder, and her thighs begin to shake. "Mulderrr… I'm gonna… I'm gonna come."

His breathing is ragged, and he feels his balls tightening, burning with release. "Yesss. Come for me, baby. I love you so much… Come for me," he grunts as his seed spurts out of him, landing on his chest and the orange bedspread.

She gasps as her entire body goes rigid, her back arching off the mattress as the power of her release consumes her. Her voice chokes a sob then grows silent, as the orgasm's intensity washes through her, robbing her of sound, its fiery warmth prodding her with hundreds of hot iron rods.

He listens to her come down from her high, his mouth open in wonder and awe, both aroused and amazed by her. Her legs twitch with aftershocks, and as she moves to close them, she sighs. They listen to each other breathe, their lungs breathing in unison. Her eyes remain closed, the power of the fantasy still alive in her mind.

"Say it," she whispers.

He adjusts the phone to his face, and drops his hand from his flaccid cock. "Say what?" he questions, softly.

"Say what you always say to me after…"

He smiles and nods his head in understanding, "I love making you come."

She smiles up at her ceiling, her eyes still shut to the outside world.

"I love you, Mulder," she says, softly.

"Oh, Scully… I love you more than anything, please believe that."

"I believe, Mulder," she breathes, "I believe."

The line grows silent for a few moments, and he hears her rustling with the bedding. He wraps his free arm around his body, the painful thought of disconnecting the call, of losing this connection, growing in his chest.

Mulder's mouth opens and closes as he ponders what to say, but he realizes that there is nothing he can say that can make it easier to hang up. "I'll be home soon," he says as if he's just around the corner, on his way home from work. She smiles at the notion.

She snorts. "Don't forget the milk," she jokes, smiling up at her ceiling. There's a long pause on the line, neither willing to be the first to hang up, to end the connection. He pulls his phone from his face and stares at the lit screen, finally punching the 'end call' button behind growing tears.

Sitting up from his lonely motel bed, he plays the images from the evening in his mind, grateful that he will be able to take those memories with him to the desert. They will sustain him, give him the ability to survive. He rubs his chest, realizing that for the first time in eight months, the dull, suffocating ache in his chest is gone. His breathing is light and free, the painful anguish of his loneliness a distant memory.

 _*She feels his absence like a cinder block dragging her beneath the surface.*_

She wakes the next morning, and blinks the sleep from her eyes. The memories of last night flood her vision and she sits up slowly, shaking her head.

 _*It suffocates her, drowning her, pulling her under the rip tide of grief, and suffering.*_

Her hand reaches for her chest, and she strokes the delicate skin above her heart, her eyes closing as she concentrates on her breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

She smiles, her heart lurching in happiness instead of the ever-present despair she had grown accustomed to, and she breathes.

She breathes again.

* * *

The End


End file.
